At the risk of confusing you all greatly, I must inform you of the current transition I am tackling in case there should be long and wide pauses in various types of communication! I’m moving! We’ve lived in this little Methow home for three months now and a few days ago the owner, who happens to be a fisherman in Alaska in the summer months, announced his impending return. We hummed and hawed a little about what the heck to do with ourselves and made the decision to stay in the valley as long as we can this fall, as long as RW can work, probably until very late in the month of October. The decision came as a great relief to me as I just began to settle into life and work here and didn’t feel prepared to make the big journey home, as much as I miss and love Idaho. I’m a little tornado of packing-ness, collecting our various piles of things and shuttling them over to the other side of the valley, up a mountain, down a very winding road, alongside a cliff, over a large bump, to a beautiful douglas fir and ponderosa pine forest where a very little cabin exists in practically perfect sweetness and is really, in every way, ideal for this little goldilocks! It really is quite small, the downstairs must be slightly over 100 square feet with a fairly good sized annexed bathroom and a wee ladder that goes upstairs into the loft where there is one bed that is just right. Little cabin in the woods is rather isolated and the forest is some kind of gleaming quiet, the light trickles down through the conifer canopy like arpeggios. All is peaceful there, except for the bear. He’s noisy. That’s not a joke. Little cabin in the woods comes with a rotund black bear who has been dipping his nose in caramel. He’s the cutest thing. We had our first meeting yesterday. I must have scared him because he ran directly up the side of a mountain slope and that couldn’t have been easy running. Nothing I love more than a spooky bear — it means I probably won’t be eaten.
I do confess, I worry I will be lonesome in this location. It’s in such a silent, isolated nook on the mountain and seems to take fairly enormous effort to get to, or even find! I supposed I will have to be the sound, the color, the zingy little human, the texture of life there in my forest. That said, the Airstream cannot make it down the gnarly road that leads to this bitty abode and I’m going to have to park my big, silver studio at the base which means I’ll be commuting to work for the next couple of months. Robert is dubious, but I know I’ll love an eternal, wild bike ride every morning. I can already tell, I’m going to write deeply in this little wood as well as make wonderful photos. I feel so lucky to be moving into such a quaint space, right when the forest is going to begin to prepare for the long sleep of winter. Come the gold and crimson, set me whirling.
The summer truly feels as though it’s winding down now, or being gathered up and compressed into tight ravels, a fuzzy ball of yarn. The sun slants are growing soft, curving, tinged at the edges with blue. There’s a delicious chill in the morning air and I warm my hands on cups of tea and coffee. I’ve been wearing little wool sweaters, boots, I’m shifting into richer colors, I think about wearing fingerless gloves as I type this. At night, I’m sleeping under two blankets instead of one, Robert is away and there’s nothing to keep my feet warm, deep in the sheets and quilts — I read later than I should, because lamp light is cozy, and night comes earlier than expected. The deer will unveil their antlers soon. Canada geese are on the river. Are you ready for a shift in seasons? I’m not sure I want to stop swimming in lakes and rivers, growing flowers, riding my bicycle through the nights with starlight as my crown, with my long hair whispering on bare shoulders, with night bugs crooning their creaking melodies, and the river waters holding the edges of everything in perfect order.